


But for the Grace of... Well, Grace

by TheReluctantShipper



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: (sort of I mean really they're all adopted and also it's an AU), Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Humor, M/M, Mob Themes, Organized Crime, Pseudo-Incest, The Relationships are as Slow-Burn as a Short Fic can Get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 21:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19839148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantShipper/pseuds/TheReluctantShipper
Summary: Reginald Hargreeves, a high-ranking mob boss, dies of natural causes in his home.His wife, Grace Hargreeves, is put in danger without the protection of her husband's name.Five makes the call to bring his siblings back together to protect the heart of their family.When they get there, they discover that none of them really ran that far away, after all.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I don't own anything but the original characters. I don't claim ownership over the characters or storyline of The Umbrella Academy, no matter how grateful I am for them, which is hella.
> 
> \- No posting schedule, because I am a garbage person comprised of garbage, and cannot commit to anything but my husband.
> 
> \- Thanks to the Sister Husbands, who are my best friends in the whole world, and happen to be gracious enough to also beta most of my works for me. I don't know what I'd do without you girls, but I certainly wouldn't be doing this.
> 
> \- You can come see me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thereluctantshipper) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheReluctantSh1?s=09) if me sharing fan edits and bitching about writer's block floats your boat.
> 
> \- I come by any mistakes here honestly, but feel free to point them out so I can correct them.
> 
> \- Hi, new fandom! This is a purely self-indulgent AU, very loosely based off of the movie _Four Brothers,_ from which I've stolen a scene or two. I anticipate three or four chapters, and they should be put out pretty quickly since I'm not actively working on any other projects. I'm 100% obsessed with TUA, loved the show to pieces, haven't read the comics (yet), and the idea grabbed me and wouldn't let go until I got it down on paper. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> \- I'm trying this thing where I write a story with no outline or plan, just a vague idea of what I want. It's been a few years since I did it this way, and I'm honestly having so much fun.
> 
> \- Feedback is life.

**diego**

When they turned eighteen, Diego bolted. He left in the middle of the night, a duffel bag full of clothes, his favorite knives, and one framed photo the only thing he took with him.

(And regrets. He took some regrets with him, too.)

He bounced around a little, never admitting to himself that he didn’t want to go too far from the Academy. He did some underground fighting, but it reminded him too much of what Reginald had asked of him, too much of what he trained for while he was at home. He only did it when there was no other choice, when it was that or sleep on a sidewalk somewhere.

Eventually, he found Al’s boxing gym. Al’s not in the business, but he knew enough to know who Diego was. By that time, Diego had been known as the first brick that crumbled from beneath the Hargreeves empire (not the last brick, not by a long shot, and the empire would stand without him, but crumble he did). Al had made it clear that Diego wouldn’t get any breaks because of who he was, that Al ran a clean business and intended to keep it that way, and that if Diego wanted to live in the boiler room, he’d be expected to mop the floors and tidy the place up. Diego had been grateful enough to accept, even though the boiler room was kind of dark and damp.

It’s been like that for the last six years.

It’s not a glamorous life, but it’s his and his alone. He’s had some good times (he’s Al’s best fighter by far, he saved for weeks to buy his car on his own, he stopped a mugging in progress last week), and he’s had some shitty times (patching up injuries by himself, all the ways he fucked up with Eudora, the few nights he’s seriously considering applying for the police academy like Reginald wanted him to), but they’re all his. All Diego’s.

He’s seen some of his siblings on and off over the years. Not Luther, because that man will always be an asshole, and not Allison, because she stopped taking their calls after her first big part. Klaus is in the wind (and goddammit if that doesn’t ache), he’s only seen Klaus a handful of times since they left home. But Diego takes Ben and Vanya out to dinner every few weeks, and he goes to the house sometimes when he knows the old man isn’t there to see Mom and Five.

Still, it’s a surprise to hear Al say he has a call from home.

“Hello? Ma? Everything okay?

“It’s me, Diego,” Five says crisply. Diego doesn’t take it personally.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“Dad’s dead, and we need your help.”

* * *

**ben**

Ben didn’t feel the urge to run like his siblings (except Luther).

Well, no, that’s not true. While he was living at the Academy, with the abuse and the homeschooling and their father, he dreamed about running away just as much as his brothers and sisters. It was just that, as he got older, he realized that he’d need an actual _plan._ Allison had a plan, flimsy as it was, but everyone else just wanted to be gone. 

Ben got it, _gets_ it, even, but he’s really not a fly by the seat of his pants kind of person.

So he worked his ass off and got into college. Not a perfect solution for the homeschooled, pop culture deprived kid of a known mobster, but it got him housing and a meal plan, which was more than his siblings had. He was close to home, too, in case Five or Mom needed anything and couldn’t reach his more capable siblings.

(Yeah, Ben’s pretty self-aware.)

As a result, though, he’s a little more socially capable than the rest of his family. Oh, he’s just as damaged, but he likes to think he hides it better. (That would be the anger-management courses he’s taken, credit where it’s due and all.) And, hey, he has his own apartment, steady work as a journalist for a local paper, and a cat named Cthulu that Klaus lured out from under a dumpster and brought to him. Ben’s doing all right.

Still, at Five’s call, he drops everything and runs.

* * *

**allison**

Allison got out. She ran as soon as she could, and she fucking _made it._ Her face is on billboards, designers call and beg to dress her, and she’s starting to think that Patrick is The One.

Allison is _out._ She bailed and cut ties and that should be that.

So why, when she gets Five’s call (the youngest, the most serious, the one she never even started to relate to because by the time he was old enough to talk she was already gone), is she cancelling plans and making travel arrangements?

* * *

**vanya**

Vanya left, just as her siblings had. She did it more quietly, and she ran less of a distance, but she left with just as much finality as any of them.

It was easier on her, she thinks, because she had her innate talent to fall back on. Third chair isn’t first chair, not by a long shot, but it’s still nothing to sneeze at, even in a modest orchestra like the one that plays at Icarus. That and the lessons she loves teaching so much have kept her in a modest two-bedroom apartment, with enough left over to give Klaus some money when he comes by every couple of weeks and to treat Five to a movie and ice cream date, as has become their habit, whenever he gets too serious about his studies. 

Sure, she maybe kind of fell into this life without having to fight too hard for it, but she’s fought enough already, or so Mom tells her. She isn’t ashamed of it.

(Sometimes, when her brother’s too-old kohl-rimmed eyes get misty with memories, or her other brother’s solemn, kind eyes get hard with fury he can hardly contain, or when her _other_ brother hardens himself to a degree where his eyes show nothing at all, or when her youngest brother can hardly meet her eyes because he’s mid panic-attack, she’s ashamed. She’s so very ashamed.)

She’s Five’s first call. She goes, of course.

* * *

**luther**

Luther is glad Five made the call, even if he won’t admit it, because he’s not sure he could have.

Luther loves his family, he _does,_ but he was the one who stayed. He was the one who helped Dad, who followed orders and broke legs when they needed broken and kept their business where it was, even when it was hanging on by the skin of its teeth. He was the one who promised to protect the business (and Mom, not that Dad said it outright, but Luther made that promise to himself), who held Mom’s hand as Dad breathed his last. He helped Five start the funeral arrangements, and he was the first person Five came to when the kid noticed that they’re being watched.

Luther is the one who stayed. 

(He doesn’t think about how much he missed them. Hotheaded Diego, beautiful Allison, funny Klaus, quiet Ben, and gentle Vanya. How betrayed and abandoned he felt when they ran, even when he was glad they went (he is not so self-absorbed to not have noticed that he was treated differently from the others). How lonely it’s been with just him and Five.)

Luther is the one who stayed, but he can’t do this on his own, and he’s glad Five made the call.

* * *

**klaus**

Klaus had precisely seven tethers to his family home. He’d always thought that it would take an apocalypse, a real world-ending event to sever them.

But then Ben got his acceptance letter. 

Klaus cheered as loud as Ben would let him, babbled about the new friends and cute boys and worldly people Ben would meet, insisted on Ben letting him sleep over whenever he wanted when he had his new fancy dorm room _(“It’ll be a twin bed, Klaus, where are you going to sleep?” “Premium cuddle time, brother-mine.”)._ It wasn’t until later, in his own room, under his own comforter, that he allowed himself to sob quietly to himself. As much as Klaus loves Van, Allison, and Luther, Ben always has been and always will be his best friend. It was like a punch in the chest to know that Ben was leaving him.

It was okay, though, because he still had Diego. Diego, who let Klaus curl up next to him when the nightmares were bad, who held Klaus’ hand under the table sometimes when they were feeling bold, or who kissed Klaus gently (his first kiss, although he’ll never tell Diego that) at the backdoor of the mansion before they were rushed in for school. He had Diego, who was also close to Ben, so it wouldn’t be so bad.

Until, of course, Diego fled in the night.

Something in Klaus fractured at that, at Diego leaving without so much as a note or a whispered goodbye (or a whispered, _“come with me,”_ not that Klaus will ever utter that out loud). He’d already been rebelling pretty hard by being openly pansexual in their father’s strictly conservative household, breaking into Reginald’s liquor cabinet every chance he got, and stealing Mom’s dresses to go out in on occasion (although they were always tailored perfectly, the ones in the back, because Grace Hargreeves is no fool). It was easy, so easy, to slip out after Diego, to let himself get lost in a lifestyle of parties, raves, drugs, loud music, and flashing lights.

He still sees Ben, Vanya, and Five regularly. They go to dinner, or he’ll go bother Five when the kid is trying to do his homework and they’ll end up piled on the living room floor in a blanket fort watching old black and white movies. He goes to every one of Van’s concerts, and he has every article Ben has ever written in a shoebox in the bottom of the bookbag he guards with his life. He goes with Mom when she gets her hair done, sometimes, to poke fun at the goons that go with her everywhere and catch up. He sees Luther, too, now and again, at dinner with the fam. He watches as Luther tries not to laugh when Klaus manages to rile up the old man, and he winks as he leaves before good ol’ Reggie has the chance to kick him out (every. single. time.). 

He doesn’t see Diego, though, not by choice, not ever.

Still, when Vanya rolls up in her cute little VW bug and calls out the window, “Get in, family meeting. Five needs us.” he goes without hesitation. 

Even though Diego will be there, Klaus’ family needs him, and they’re his tethers. He _has_ to go.

* * *

**five**

Five Hargreeves doesn’t give one fuck that his adoptive father is dead.

Five doesn’t know, precisely, what the old man was thinking when he adopted another kid ten years after his first six, but it doesn’t matter now. Five has had access to a good education, he’ll go to a good college, and he’ll take care of his siblings when they’re all invariably unable to care for themselves.

(Except Ben and Vanya, who are not only very capable themselves, but also undoubtedly his favorites.)

He doesn’t care for the organized crime business, not passionately like Reginald, but he knows it inside and out. He’d have done well, he thinks, once he had some college degrees under his belt and a firm hand on his father’s followers. He’d have taken care of Mom (the only person he’s willing to admit that he loves without reservation), and he’d get Klaus help, and he’d get Diego a real job, and it would have been fine.

All that hinged on Dad not dying early, though, and on the Commission, a rival gang (with a ridiculous, campy name, Five has always thought) swarming around the house like poorly-hidden vultures the moment word spread that Reginald Hargreeves was no more.

Five Hargreeves doesn’t give one fuck that his adoptive father is dead. He does, however, give a fuck that his mother is in danger because Reginald was too selfish to make sure anyone else was taken care of before he kicked it. 

Unfortunately, Five is only thirteen. A genius, yes, but still only thirteen.

So Five makes the call that brings his family home.

(And only admits to himself how relieved he is when they all get there.)


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- *puts hands on hips and stares at 2nd chapter* Boy howdy, that chapter is like... _Way_ longer than the 1st one, huh?

**five**

Five stares down at the cup of coffee in his hand, willing his finger to stop tapping the side of the mug. The sound is driving him mad, even if it is being made by his own hand. He’s successful, but as soon as his finger stops, his leg begins to bounce. He growls, but goes back to finger-tapping.

“Five, dear, are you feeling okay?”

Five has never struggled to give his mother a genuine smile, and he doesn’t now, either. It’s tight and strained, but genuine. “I’ll just… Feel better when everyone gets here.”

Grace face lightens. “Oh, I _am_ excited that you kids will all be here again.”

Five smiles a little easier. The whole house (Five, Grace, and Luther) has been tense since the first scout from the Commission showed up. Grace, though she has tried to hide it with smiles, perfectly coiffed hair, and cookies, has been vacillating between mildly frightened, outright terror, and some other emotion Five has never seen her express before. It makes him incredibly uncomfortable (it scares the shit out of him). So it’s nice to see that she, at least, is breathing a little easier.

“Me, too, Mom.”

She beams at him, then gasps. “Oh! I should make more cookies!”

Luther comes in from the kitchen, his own mug looking comically tiny in his hand. He smiles down at Grace and sits in one of the big wingback chairs in the living room they’ve gathered in. He’s clearly fresh from the shower, hair still dripping onto the collar of his shirt.

 _Trying to impress Allison,_ Five thinks. Though they’re all adopted and he doesn’t necessarily think there’s anything _wrong_ with it, Five is glad he dodged whatever “getting feelings for your adopted siblings” bullet Luther and Allison seem to have been struck by. It seems messy.

“Mom,” Luther is saying. “You’ve already made so many. There’s no way we’re going to eat all of them.”

Grace laughs. “Oh, I know! But you and Diego have always gotten into your little scrapes, and I expect today to be no different. I’m planning on half of them to end up on the ground!”

 _Little scrapes,_ Five thinks with a touch of wonder. Grace really is an angel, because those “little scrapes” but both Luther and Diego into the hospital more than once before she straightened them out, to hear Van and Ben tell it.

(Klaus doesn’t talk about Diego. Five doesn’t ask.)

Luther is blushing a little into his coffee. “We haven’t done that in a long time,” he mutters.

There’s a knowing twinkle in Grace’s eyes. “Only because you boys avoid each other like the plague!”

 _No, because you don’t like it._ Diego and Luther butt heads, _more_ than butt heads, but they both agree on one thing: Reginald Hargreeves may have made the choice to adopt six kids too old to be considered really “adoptable,” but Grace Hargreeves is the one who saved them.

Five is counting on that mentality as the big front door opens and Ben’s gentle voice calls out, “Mom? Five? Luther?”

* * *

**ben**

Ben tries not to step foot in the mansion as much as possible, so it’s weird to be walking in like he still lives there.

 _God, I hate this place._ Nothing has changed, it’s all dark wood and heavy curtains and antique furniture. He wonders if Mom will change anything now that Dad’s dead.

“Ben, darling, is that you?”

_“Ben, darling, is that you?”_

_Ben has blood on his hands, but it doesn’t help the anger flooding his veins. He knows he’s trembling, that he’s breathing too hard, but he can’t stop. He can’t answer Mom, even, no matter how much he wants to._

_She comes into view anyway, in a pretty pink dress and a smile on her face that drops immediately when she sees him._

“Ben!” _she gasps as she hurries to him. “Oh, Ben, honey, what happened?”_

_“There was- This guy, and- Then I- Mom, I couldn’t stop!” he cries, falling into her arms. He worries about the blood smearing and staining her dress, but she immediately holds him tight, so he buries his face into her chest and sobs._

_Ben is fifteen, only a few inches shorter than Mom (but not as tall as Klaus), and he may have just beat someone to death._

_Mom shushes him and rocks him side to side. It’s so soothing that he almost misses the fact that her hands are checking him for injuries._

_He pulls himself together a little and leans back. “‘M fine, Mom,” he says, sniffling. “I was… He didn’t hit me.”_

_Mom’s eyes are full of love and void of censure. “Are you sure, dear?” When he nods, she nods back and cups his face in her soft hands. “What happened?”_

_He hangs his head as much as possible and his gaze drops from hers. “I… There was a boy, and he was picking on me. I tried to make him stop! I really did! And then I tried to walk away, just like you said to, but he cornered me! And then he just kept talking and saying shi- uh, stuff, and I just got so mad, Mom. I think…” He swallows hard. “I think I really hurt him, Mom.”_

_Mom listens without comment. When he’s done, she urges his head back up until he looks her in the eye again._

_“Benny, baby,” she says, and her voice has tears running down his cheeks again, “I’m not going to lie to you, this is bad. But you came right home to me, and we’re going to fix it, okay? I’m proud of you for defending yourself, and we’ll make sure to fix the rest.”_

_“Mom!” he blurts, almost against his will. “You don’t understand! I hit him so_ much, _Mom! It wasn’t defending myself! I mean, yeah, but I’ve got a little more experience than he does, y’know! He’s just some high schooler! It wasn’t a fair fight, and I-”_

_She shushes him again, and Ben loves his mother, so he quiets._

_“My Ben,” she says with a smile. “This is serious, I know it is, and we’ll definitely have a talk about it. I’m not discounting what happened, sweetheart.” She taps his chest with one perfectly manicured finger. “I’m not discounting this, this monster you keep inside of you. You work so hard to be fair because you’re so worried that all of this anger is going to overtake you someday.”_

_Ben is shaking, but Mom keeps going._

_“I’m not going to let that happen,” she says firmly, looking him in the eye. “You’re my son, and the anger you carry inside you cannot have you.”_

_“What am I going to do, Mom?” he whispers._

_She smiles again. “You’re going to go clean up, sweetheart. I’m going to go talk to your father about this boy who bullied you. Then, after dinner, you and I are going to sit down while your siblings have reading time, and we’re going to find someone for you to talk to. Maybe a class to take.”_

_Ben blinks. That’s… Not what he expected. “A class?”_

_She beams. “You’ve always been so good at your lessons, I think a class would be good for you. And maybe a psychiatrist.”_

_Ben snorts. “Dad’s not going to let me see a shrink, Mom.”_

_Mom raises an eyebrow, and Ben sees her for something outside of just his mother for a moment. Sees her as the mafia princess, mafia_ queen _she really is._

_“You know I don’t like it when you children refer to professionals in the vernacular, Ben. And you just leave your father to me.” She leans forward to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Now go on, wash up. Dinner is in half an hour.”_

_Ben smiles tremulously._

_“I love you, Mom.”_

_“And I love you, too, Ben.”_

Ben blinks himself back to the present. He didn’t end up killing that kid, the psychiatrist and classes helped him with the deep well of rage he struggled with, and Mom looks pretty much the same.

He smiles. “Hi, Mom.”

She beams up at him (he’s finally taller than her) as she comes close for a hug. She’s in a loose sweater and a pair of leggings, and her hair is in a messy braid now, but she looks good like this, looser, freer without Dad around. As she envelopes him in her arms, she smells the same, though, and she’s still the most comforting thing in his life.

She cups his face and eyes him critically. “You’re so handsome,” she says fondly, “and still so skinny! Are you eating?”

Ben laughs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m eating.”

“Well, not enough!” She turns and loops her arm through his. “Come on, you can help me put the cookies in the living room, then we’ll eat as many as we can before your brothers knock them over.”

Ben grins because he can hear Luther’s indignant huff from here. It’s weird being back, he thinks as he pats his mom’s hand and escorts her into her own kitchen, and the circumstances are bad, but it’s kind of nice, too.

* * *

**vanya**

Vanya is worried. It feels, sometimes, like she’s always worried, especially about her family, but this is more concrete. There’s a _reason_ to worry now.

She knows about the Commission (and she agrees with Five, it’s a stupid name) and the way they’ve been circling Mom. It makes something inside Vanya twist with disgust and fear and shame. She knows how mobs work, she knows _exactly_ what they’ll do if they get their hands on Grace Hargreeves.

She forces herself to take a deep breath, willing her dark thoughts away. She tries to focus on the view through the windshield of her parked car, the front of the mansion they grew up in. It doesn’t work until a slim, long-fingered hand lands oh-so-gently on her shoulder.

She looks over into Klaus’ knowing green eyes.

“We’re gonna be all right, sis,” he says, more serious than most people ever know that Klaus can be. “Once everyone is here, we’ll think of a plan and everything will be all right.”

 _Once Diego is here, he means,_ she thinks but doesn’t say, would never say. Instead, she smiles a little. Klaus has always had the utmost faith in their siblings (in Diego), even when they’ve let him down (even after Diego left). 

“Let’s go inside,” she says. “I bet Mom made cookies.”

Just like that, the somber air around Klaus dissipates like it was never there. His eyes light up and he’s out of the car in a blink, dancing around to the driver’s side to unnecessarily help her out of the car.

“C’mon! Mom makes the _best_ cookies!”

Vanya laughs. “You’re ridiculous,” she says, but it’s fond, and she follows her brother into their family home easily.

As soon as they’re in the living room, Klaus exclaims over Ben (“It’s been so long, dear brother!” “It’s been two weeks. You dumped soy sauce on my head the last time we hung out.”) and Luther _(“Ooh,_ trying to make a good four-hundredth-slash-first impression, are we? And on _whom,_ may I ask?” An eye roll. “Stuff it, Klaus.” Klaus just cackles) and Five ("Fivey! I-" "Not another word until I've had at least another coffee, Klaus."). Mom brings Vanya her own cup of coffee and sits next to her on the sofa as they watch Klaus fling himself into Luther’s lap and Luther both scold their brother and hold him up at the same time, one arm going around Klaus’ slim waist to steady him. 

(Klaus has always been affectionate, handsy, grabby, whatever you want to call it. They got used to it as adults, and never really grew out of it.

God, Reginald fucking hated that. It might be half the reason they still do it.)

“They are a bit much on occasion, aren’t they?” Mom asks, all hidden mischief in her eyes and a tiny smile on her face when she turns to look at Vanya.

Vanya chuckles. “On occasion? Mom, you know they’re like this all the time.”

Mom laughs, a happy, floating sound. “You’re not wrong, my dear.” She smiles and tucks a bit of Vanya’s hair behind her ear. “And how are you, honey? Are you holding up okay?”

_“How are you, honey?”_

_Vanya looks up from where she’d been staring at her knees. Mom is in the doorway of her bedroom, wrapped in a long silk robe, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulder. She’s standing carefully to one side of the door, not blocking Vanya off from the exit. All of her siblings are still working on it, but Vanya is unspeakably grateful that making sure she doesn’t feel trapped seems to come so easily to Mom._

_Vanya shrugs. “I’m okay, I guess.”_

_Mom comes in and sits on the edge of Vanya’s bed, still being so careful not to make sudden movements or offer an unwanted touch. “The nightmares again, baby?”_

_Vanya nods, and her eyes mist over with tears. “I’m scared they’re never gonna stop,” she whispers. She’s aware, vaguely, that she’s trembling._

_Mom’s face is mournful and she places a hand carefully on the bed, palm-up between them. Vanya only hesitates a few beats before she takes it._

_“They will,” Mom says, and it’s impossible not to believe her, with the confidence in her words and the conviction in her eyes. “They’ll stop, Van, sweetheart, I know they will. It will take time, and you’ll have to be strong, but they’ll stop. The place… The_ people _you came from, they haunt you, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Very slowly, Mom brings their clasped hands up to her lips and presses a kiss to the back of Vanya’s, so gently she almost doesn’t feel it. “But you’re my girl, sweetheart, and I love you. We’re your family, and you belong with us. We’ll keep you safe, okay?”_

_That night, for the first time, Vanya starts to believe it._

Vanya smiles. “Yeah, I’m all right, Mom. Good days and bad days.”

That twinkle is back in Mom’s eye. “And how is _Helen?”_

She asks it loud enough to make Vanya blush and the rest of the room take notice. Klaus squeaks in delight, Ben chuckles, Five smirks, and Luther frowns in confusion. He’s still got Klaus on his lap, and he’s holding his mug of coffee out of Klaus’ reach simply by virtue of being insanely long.

“Who’s Helen?” he asks. There was a time when the rough timbre of his voice and the suspicion lacing each syllable would have had Vanya shaking apart right then and there. Now, a decade later, she sees it for what it really is. Affection from someone who has shut the soft part of himself away, disguised as worry.

“She’s Van’s _gi-i-irlfriend,”_ Klaus crows, because he’s still thirteen somewhere deep down inside himself. 

“She’s the first chair in my orchestra,” Vanya explains, flipping Klaus the bird with the hand Mom can’t see. “And she’s not _my_ anything. We’ve just… Gone for coffee.”

“Three times,” Ben says, smug and safe because there’s no way Vanya can non-verbally berate him without Mom seeing him.

Luther’s brow furrows. “Is she nice? Who’s her family? What’s she like?” 

Five snorts. "I think she's a-"

“Now, boys," Mom interrupts with a smile, “leave your sister alone. She’ll tell us about Helen when she’s ready and not a moment before.” Luther blushes and mutters an apology, but before Vanya can respond, Mom’s continuing. “And don’t think I didn’t see that hand, miss. No vulgarity in my house, out loud or otherwise!”

Klaus laughs again, Five lets loose an actual chuckle, and Vanya is able to relax a little with so much of her family around her.

* * *

**luther**

Klaus’ weight is comforting in a weird way where it rests on Luther’s thighs. Klaus was always clingy, and though Reginald didn’t like it, Luther never could bring himself to shrug off his most (and somehow least) fragile sibling.

(He was never just their father’s man, no matter what Diego used to hiss at him. Never _just_ that.)

It’s nice, too, to have so many of them here. Novel, really. The house still echoes, but it’s less noticeable now, with the siblings he grew up with sitting and laughing and eating.

(Luther loves Five, but the kid is a decade younger than him and strange to boot. They get along as well as anyone, he guesses, but it’s good to have the others here now, too.)

 _Allison coming has me all tied up,_ he thinks wryly. He spent a long time in the shower wondering if he should shave, should he get a haircut, would Allison like the smell of his soap, would she like his shirt would- Well, he spiralled, is the point. He’s certain Five would have noticed and mentioned it if they didn’t have so much to worry about.

The reminder of the danger makes him feel guilty for enjoying hanging out with his family, and for worrying about Allison. He should be preparing, figuring out a patrol, trying to find a solution.

_Dad always did say that I was too emotional._

“Luther?”

Mom’s voice pulls him out of his weird, self-deprecating thoughts. When he looks up at her (not too far up, though, his whole family is so tiny), her gaze is knowing and kind. He’s struck with wonder about how skillfully his mom navigates seven kids with broken psyches, even now.

“Yeah?”

She smiles. “Would you mind very much helping me with lunch? I’ve just realized what time of day it is.”

_“Would you mind very much helping me, Luther dear?”_

_Luther stiffens at his mother’s too-kind words. He’s in the library, furious tears welling in his eyes. He hasn’t even changed out of his workout clothes from sparring with Diego. He’s just standing there, facing a corner, trying not to cry._

Pathetic, _Reginald’s voice sneers at him._

_“Luther?” Mom asks, gentle and sweet. “Dear, are you all right?”_

_He sniffles a little. “Yeah, gimme a sec, ma. I’ll help you with whatever you need in just a sec.”_

_He hears her come closer and he tenses further until she lays a soft hand on his bare shoulder. “What’s happened, Luther? If you want to tell me, that is.”_

_And that’s the curse of it, he_ does _want to tell her, and he shouldn’t. Reginald is right, he’s too emotional, too willing to take the hit so his brothers and sisters won’t suffer. He should suck it up, keep it inside, not say a word. He should…_

_“Luther,” Mom says slowly, like she’s talking to a frightened animal instead of her (frightened) son, “I know what your father says, your father isn’t always right.”_

_Luther blinks and turns just enough to look at her in his peripherals. “... What?”_

_Her eyes are pained, her face kind. “Your kindness, Luther, your generosity, it’s your greatest strength. Your father sometimes… Well, sometimes he only sees the bottom line, dear, and it can blind him to things that aren’t directly related to that.” She smiles a little. “No matter what your father says, you’re special, and you’re good, Luther. Please try to remember that.”_

_While sparring, Luther deliberately lunged for Diego’s feint because he knew he’d cracked his brother’s rib with his last hit. Diego took the opening without hesitation and Luther had gone down. Dad, of course, had seen right through it. He didn’t say anything about it, no, but he heaped praise on Diego like he’d done something especially amazing instead of just taking an advantage that Luther gave him on purpose. Diego had looked more confused than really pleased, though he had preened, and Dad had looked Luther right in the eye._

_Luther knows that he’s not the best of any of his siblings, not really. Sure, he’s the biggest, the most willing to follow orders, and there are good parts of those traits, he guesses. But he’s not agile and street-smart like Diego, or kind and funny like Klaus, or smart and gentle like Ben, or quiet and thoughtful like Vanya, or… Well, Allison is the best of any of them, as far as Luther is concerned, but he’s not nearly good enough for her, either._

_He’s just Luther. Big, dumb, bumbling, emotional Luther._

_Mom leans forward to kiss his cheek, and he feels his heart lighten a little. “I love you, dear,” she whispers. “Take your time getting a shower and changing, then meet me in the kitchen. I want to get some of the holiday crockeries down from the top cabinets.”_

_Luther followed those orders, too, but they were somehow better._

He smiles up at his mom. “Sure, Mom. Gotta get Klaus off me, first.”

Klaus squawks indignantly when Luther hitches him up and off, but immediately crowds into Five’s space when he’s set back down on the couch. Five growls and tries to wrestle him away, Ben and Vanya start calling out fighting tips, and Luther follows Mom into the kitchen.

* * *

**allison**

Allison isn’t nervous.

Well, no, that’s not true. She might be a little nervous. Being home for the first time in years, after changing her number and not acknowledging her family and _running._ Her siblings ran, too, she knows, Diego ran _first_ even, but none ran as far as she.

_Okay, maybe I’m terrified._

How angry are they going to be? Will they even let her in? Will they be able to put aside whatever resentments they have to let her help them help Mom? Maybe she can point out that she has money, influence. Of course, her influence is in places that-

The cab stops in front of the Hargreeves mansion and she forces herself to stop, too. What will happen will happen. She’s here to help her mother, and anyone who has a problem with that can just deal with it.

She pays the taxi driver and steels herself. _Fuck._ She’s got dark sunglasses on, and her long hair is wrapped up in a dark scarf. It’s not a _disguise,_ per se, but she genuinely doesn’t know if she could handle being recognized by a fan right now.

She knocks on the door (just walking in somehow doesn’t seem right anymore) and waits with her spine straight and her hand gripping the strap of her purse so hard that her knuckles turn white.

When the door opens, a wave of nostalgia hits her so hard she almost stumbles. Klaus looks the same and so different all at the same time. He’s almost resplendent in a skin-tight crop-top and a long, pleated skirt. His feet are bare and his hair is a little longer than it used to be so it curls around his ears. He’s paler than health demands, thinner than would indicate good habits, and his eyes have shadows in them that weren’t there at eighteen, but he’s _Klaus,_ and he’s beaming at her.

 _“Allison!”_ he cries, just before flinging himself at her. She catches him, and though she’s surprised by the physical contact, she wraps him up in her arms and hugs him back.

“Hi, Klaus,” she murmurs, voice rough.

He pulls back and looks her up and down, hands still grasping her arms. “You look _amazing!_ Love the wrap, do you think I could pull one off? Oh, come in, we have _loads_ to talk about.” He pulls her inside, and Alison can’t help but laugh as she allows it.

Klaus babbles about fashion and celebrity gossip (Allison knows things that would curl his hair even more) as he tugs her into the living room. She stiffens in surprise when she sees Ben, Vanya, and Five, but she doesn’t have time to really panic before Klaus sits her next to himself on the loveseat, still talking nonstop.

 _God._ The nostalgia is back, because here’s Ben, in a hoodie and jeans and sneakers, laughing at one of Klaus’ stupid jokes. He looks older, a maturity has settled around his shoulders that’s new, but he’s still _Ben._

And here’s Vanya, still soft-spoken, but there’s a smile on her face that’s wicked with teasing. She’s in a waistcoat and skinny jeans, but it’s working for her. Allison’s “little” sister grew into herself.

It occurs to Allison to wonder how much she’s missed out on.

“Hush, you!” Vanya is insisting, flapping a dismissive hand at Klaus, who gasps in mock offense. Vanya ignores him to turn toward Allison.

“I bet you have some wild stories,” Vanya says. Her voice is less warm than when she talks to Klaus, but her body language is open and her smile seems real. Allison isn’t totally forgiven, then (which, fair), but everyone who grew up here knows what it was like. She has some making up to do, but they’re not shutting her out.

She opens her mouth to respond _(obviously_ she’s about to gossip about famous people with her sister, what is she, made of stone?) but the words get stuck in her throat when Luther steps into the room, and-

And oh, _fuck,_ what does she think she’s doing with Patrick? He’s never made her feel like this. She can’t breathe, she can feel her eyes widening, and she can feel the wild impulse to tear the scarf off of her head and fix her hair. He’s looking at her like he’s shocked, too, a plate of sandwiches in his (big, capable, strong) hands. His t-shirt stretches tight across his broad chest, and her eyes follow helplessly down the lines of his body to his narrow hips, strong legs, and back up again.

_Oh, God, why did I come back?_

“Hi, Luther,” she says softly, forgetting everyone else in the room.

His disbelieving smile is like the sun breaking from behind clouds. “Allison,” he breathes. “You’re here.”

He stumbles suddenly, and an angry child with a jawline she’d recognize anywhere glares up at Luther. “Move, idiot,” he growls, “you’re in Mom’s way.”

Allison chuckles as Luther blushes and shuffles to the side. “Hi, Five.”

He nods stiffly at her and goes to sit next to Vanya. Allison tries not to let it make her nervous. She was gone before Five really became a person. He knows her about as well as she knows him.

From the kitchen, she hears, “Luther, why are you still in the doorway? I don’t know- Oh!” Mom’s face lights up and she hurries toward Allison, arms outstretched. “Oh, Allison, how _wonderful_ to see you!”

Allison was never all that close to her mother. Oh, she was supportive through breakups, her first period, and her first disastrous attempts with eyeliner (unlike Klaus, she wasn’t a natural), but they weren’t _close_ like Allison’s siblings were. It doesn’t mean Allison doesn’t love her mother, and it doesn’t mean she’s not here to help get her out of this situation.

“Hey, Mom,” she says as they hug. She meets Luther’s eyes over Mom’s shoulder. “We’re gonna figure this out."

* * *

**klaus**

Klaus slips away from the living room while Allison catches the rest of the fam up with her starlit life. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hear it, he does, but he has a feeling. Allison and Luther giving each other googly-eyes made him think of Diego, and speak of the devil and he shall appear, and Klaus needs to be ready.

Klaus came back because he loves Mom. He loves her in an unending, soft, oceanic sort of way. How could he not? His mother, who told him that he was worth more than the gender of the person on the other side of his mouth, the gender of the person on _either_ side of his mouth, no matter what his father said. His mother, who kept dresses tailor-made to fit his skinny hips and annoyingly broad shoulders in the back of her closet for him. His mother who yes, took him for pedicures and manicures and hair appointments, but also took him to the batting cages where they swung baseball bats for hours until he was too tired and sore to be angry anymore. 

Oh, yes, Klaus _adores_ his mother. That’s why he’s here.

Mostly.

Because who else loves Grace Hargreeves? Why, Diego Hargreeves, that’s who.

Klaus isn’t going to pretend that he wasn’t devastated by the way Diego left _(him),_ but he’s grown up a little since then. Quite frankly, he’s seen some shit, and he understands now better than ever why Diego had to leave. It still hurts, an ache deep in his chest he can’t really shake, but he understands now.

That doesn’t mean he’s going to let Diego get off (heh) easy.

His first stop is to the bathroom, the one closest to Diego’s old bedroom. He always claimed it was his favorite because of the big clawfoot tub, and though that was a draw, it was his favorite because of how easy it was to slip from there to Diego’s room. He checks his makeup, he still keeps a full drawer in here, and fixes his eyeliner. He swipes on more mascara, thick enough that it will make his eyes looked smudged and smokey when Diego finds him.

And Diego _will_ find him, Klaus knows it like he knows the beat of his own heart. They’ve always been drawn to one another, and he expects that time won’t change that a bit.

He makes sure his shirt is clean and mostly unwrinkled, and he tugs his skirt down another couple of inches so it’s indecently low on his bony hips. Done with that, he winks at himself in the mirror, and slips, once again, to Diego’s old bedroom to wait for him.

* * *

**diego**

Honestly, it's not that much of a reunion for Diego. He's made an effort to see (most of) his siblings. He knows that Ben is struggling to make bridge reconstruction interesting enough to write about, knows that Vanya is thinking about auditioning for second chair (and that she and Helen have gone out for coffee three times), and that Five is thinking about graduating early so he can "get a real fucking education already" (which, can't relate, Diego didn't like school the _first_ time around, he can't imagine signing up for more).

Obviously, he's seen Luther less. He loves his brother, but the man is a jackass through and through. And as much as Diego knows that it's not fair, and that Reginald fucked with Luther just as much as he did the rest of them, but there's a part of him that will always resent Luther.

It's not healthy, but it's what he has.

Allison is a surprise, though, and he doesn't hate seeing her. She looks good, glamorous with her hair spilling over her shoulder and her movie star smile. It's a little awkward, because when they were growing up, she wanted nothing to do with Reginald's business and Diego just wanted to be more involved (until he grew up a little). They weren't close at all. At the end of the day, too, Diego ran a little way, and Allison fled across the country.

(Diego tries to be fair. As bad as being a boy was, he can't imagine what it was like being a girl. He knows a little of what Klaus, genderfluid and pansexual, went through, but he knows enough to know he doesn't know the half of it.)

So he isn't mad at Allison, necessarily, but they're not close and he doesn't know how he would even begin to get there.

He gives hugs all around (he has to force Five's, and he just exchanges a wary, respectful nod with Luther), and he hugs Mom the hardest. He doesn't know what the fuck these Commission assholes have planned, but anger burns in his belly when he thinks about someone threatening Mom.

She fusses over him like always, asks if he's eaten, tsks over his black turtleneck and black jeans combo. He holds her hands and grins at her as she does.

"So dark," she scolds lovingly. "You're such a sweet boy, Diego, dear. You should wear more color."

He's sure he looks like a dope, but it's for Mom, so he doesn't care. "Okay, Ma."

She gives him the stinkeye. "Don't you humor me, young man."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

She smacks him on the chest and he laughs. Vanya and Ben start offering suggestions on wardrobe changes because they're the _worst._ Even Five and Allison get in on it, while Luther just looks confused.

While they're all arguing about polo shirts and "pops of bright color," Mom leans close and murmurs, "He went upstairs, dear. I believe he’s in your room."

There were a million instances of Mom telling Diego where Klaus was when they were growing up.

_"He's in the back garden."_

_"He's sparring with Luther, dear, so he'll be sore."_

_"He's in the parlor with Ben."_

_"He's in his room."_

_A raised eyebrow the first time. "He's in_ your _room."_

Klaus used to say that he always knew where Diego was, was constantly drawn to him. Diego didn't feel the pull like Klaus did, but he was always looking for him.

Mom always saw right through him, too.

He kisses her on the cheek and gently squeezes her hands. "Thanks," he whispers.

She squeezes back and turns to where the rest of his siblings are trying to talk over each other now. _Allison is fitting right back in,_ he thinks vaguely as he slinks away. _That’s nice._

The big window over the front door illuminates the staircase a little, but the hall is completely dark. It’s good like this, though, Diego is suited to the dark more, anyway. So, he knows, is Klaus.

He wants to stop in front of his old bedroom door to gather himself. Klaus has always kept him on his toes, and even if Diego hasn’t had a real conversation with Klaus for years, he doubts that’s changed. He wants to be at his best, maybe check his clothes or his breath before he sees Klaus again.

Bracing himself has never helped, though, so instead, Diego opens the door and steps in.

The light isn’t on, but the sun is shining in bars through the drapes. It lands on the hardwood floor, the made bed, and the dark skirt that Klaus is wearing. Diego lets his gaze wander up from Klaus’ perfectly painted toes, his delicate ankles, his legs, the skirt, his sharp hipbones and flat belly, up to his chest, his pretty neck, and into those dark, green eyes, watching him as intently as he himself is surveying Klaus.

“What are you doing in here?” Diego asks, and he can’t help the way his voice is soft. He’s always found it easy to be soft with Klaus.

“I thought you’d want this particular reunion somewhere a bit more… Private.” Klaus’ own voice is a purr, seductive and affectionate all at the same time. Jesus, Diego wasn’t sure if he’d ever hear it directed at him that way again.

He takes a step into the room, notices the way Klaus’ breath catches. 

“Didn’t think you’d want to be alone with me.”

Klaus lets his head fall to the side. Diego can’t stop watching the way his hair curls, how much longer it is, wonders how easy it would be to twist his fingers in it and arrange Klaus exactly how he wants him.

“Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?”

 _Not what I said,_ Diego thinks. He says, “I fucked this up, I thought.”

Klaus shrugs. “We were kids, Di. We were already fucked up.”

 _Di._ It feels like it’s been forever since he heard the nickname on Klaus’ lips. Only Klaus ever called him Di.

“I left you,” he says, and it scrapes from his chest and leaves him raw, hurting.

The same pain flits across Klaus’ expression before he shakes his head slowly. “No, no, no, you saved yourself. I won’t say it didn’t suck, it sucked big, hairy balls, but you had to save yourself.”

“I should have brought you with me,” Diego insists, refusing to forgive himself for what he has always thought was his greatest sin.

Another head shake. “Di, I wasn’t going to give up getting high. I couldn’t have done it for you, no matter how much I would have wanted to. I wasn’t ready to go with you, and you weren’t ready to take me, either.”

Diego takes another step closer. His room wasn’t all that big, so he’s only a couple of feet away from Klaus, away from the sun his Earth has always rotated around. It’s closer than he thought he’d ever get to be again.

“What about now?” he asks before he can stop himself. _Dammit._ Klaus has moved on, it’s been years. Diego doesn’t need to be projecting his bullshit onto him.

Klaus smirks, and the look in his eyes heats up. “I’m sober enough these days,” he says with a shrug. “Strictly weed now, and Van makes me limit it to a couple of times a week.”

Diego gives him another once-over. He’s pale and skinny, but Klaus has always been a pale, thin thing. Like a fairy or some otherworldly creature come to take Diego’s heart and soul and keep it forever as part of a deal that Diego made without understanding.

Not that he wants out of it now.

“And what about me?” he asks. “Did you quit me, too?”

Klaus is still looking at him like he wants to devour him, and his legs have shifted wider, making room for Diego to finally make it to him, his shins hitting the bed as he stands between Klaus’ splayed knees. Klaus softens a bit, though, at the question. He’s still all sharp angles and an obsession that used to keep Diego up at night, but he’s also gentler now, somehow. The same boy who would kiss Diego hard enough to draw blood from a busted lip before pressing a gentle kiss to the same lip, whispering about how he didn’t like seeing Diego hurt.

“I never could quit you, Di,” Klaus muses. “No matter how far we were from each other, I’ve always craved you.”

Diego leans down, his hands landing on the top of Klaus’ thighs. Klaus leaves his own hands behind him, leaning back at an almost insolent angle, daring Diego to want him with his every breath. 

Diego is so close to Klaus again that he can feel the shuddering breath the other man is giving against his lips.

“Tell me now,” he whispers. “Tell me if I missed my chance, baby. I’ll walk outta here, we’ll go downstairs, you’ll eat something ‘cause you’re too skinny, and I’ll probably punch Luther in the face. Tell me.”

Klaus answers by reaching to cup the back of Diego’s head and press him into a gentle kiss. It tastes like absolution and cheap lip gloss.

It takes less than a second for Diego to be addicted to Klaus again.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- *looks at 3rd chapter* WELL THAT'S ALSO VERY LONG, ISN'T IT?

**luther**

It’s three in the morning, and Luther fucked up.

It’s just so… _Fuck._ Seeing Allison again yesterday was exhilarating. She’s so beautiful, and just as amazing as he remembered. Once everyone had eaten lunch and they’d all noticed that Diego and Klaus weren’t there, it seemed natural for Luther and Allison to slip away, too.

He didn’t have a lot to tell her, but he thought that was okay. She told him amazing stories about places she’d been, people she’d met. He watched her, head propped in his hand, smiling at her enthusiasm.

When she started talking about Patrick, he lost a little of his enthusiasm, and he feels like that’s _reasonable,_ dammit. He still listened, responded in the right places, but it was pretty obvious that his heart wasn’t in it. She noticed and pointed it out, demanded an explanation, and things went downhill from there. They fought in hissed whispers on the back porch of the mansion until she stormed into the house and he stormed away.

It’s just that Allison has always been too caught up in them being siblings, and Luther has always been too caught up in loving her regardless of the consequences. 

He loves Allison, he does, but he’s not a fucking _saint,_ and he’s certainly not a virgin. He may not sleep around excessively, but he’s tall, broad, and he knows what he looks like. It didn’t take much effort at all to go find a nice girl (pale skin, dark hair, as much of an opposite as he could find) to erase Allison and her angry words _(“It’s not right, Luther!”)_ from his head for a few hours.

Now he’s exhausted, needs a shower, he’s still too emotional to be smart about the Allison situation _or_ the mom situation, and his groin hurts just to the right of his dick and he doesn’t think it’s a pulled muscle.

_Fuck._

How is it, he thinks as he hauls himself out of his car and down the sidewalk to the house, that it seems that Klaus and Diego have reconnected so _easily?_ Hell, they had more shitty baggage between them than he and Allison do, even someone as generally unobservant as _Luther_ knows that (although to be fair, Luther has never _really_ been unobservant when it comes to his family, he’s just never known what to do with the things he knows). At dinner, though, they sat next to one another, leaning into each other and laughing easily. It was obvious that Diego’s hand was on Klaus’ thigh, and Klaus never went more than five seconds without looking at Diego with hearts in his eyes.

He’s happy for them, of course. They’re his brothers, but more than that, it’s been clear since they were growing up under Reginald’s strict rule that Diego and Klaus were destined to be more than that, be closer than that. Luther was just as shocked as everyone else when Diego left Klaus just the same as he left the rest of them.

 _How_ are they together again after something like that? Hell, Luther and Allison were _never_ as official as Diego and Klaus, as unofficial and undefined as they were, and they’re still too mad at each other for reasons he can’t pinpoint to not fight as soon as they’re alone. 

He shakes his thoughts off as much as he can as he sneaks into the house. No one else is awake, of course, and he’s grateful that he didn’t fall asleep in what’s her name’s bed. He does _not_ want to look Mom in the eye before taking a shower, and he doesn’t want to run into anyone else, either.

 _Just get some sleep,_ he tells himself. _Everything will make more sense in the morning._

* * *

**five**

Five isn’t used to waking up to the smell of coffee. 

Since he was ten, he’s had no interest in Grace caring for him as she did her other children. He loves her, views her as his mother in all aspects, but he needs independence too fiercely to let her provide everything for him. So, while Grace gets up at six-thirty sharp every morning, Five has always set his own alarm for five-forty-five. 

Normally, he takes this time to start the coffee brewing, take a shower, and get dressed before his mother comes in, wrapped in a silk robe with her hair like a cloud around her pretty face. This morning, because it seems like there’s already coffee and it’s unlikely that the Commission broke in simply to make coffee, he goes downstairs in his pajamas.

He finds Ben in the kitchen, mixing ingredients for what looks like French toast and listening to a morning radio show on low volume. The coffee is brewed, and Ben has a mug on the counter next to him. There’s a steaming mug on the table where Five usually sits.

“Morning,” Ben says with a smile.

“What are you doing awake?” Five asks, sitting down at the table. He’d apologize for being rude, but he doesn’t actually care, really, and he knows that Ben doesn’t, either.

True to form, Ben rolls with it. “After everyone went to bed last night, Van and I realized that we really should have a watch going. We have the alarm system, yeah, but it can be disarmed easily enough. The cops would be called, but this part of town? They’d never get here in time. So Van stayed up until two-ish, and then woke me up so I could take over.”

Five frowns. “Why wasn’t-”

Ben puts a hand up, and because Five knows Ben well enough to know that he’d only ask him not to speak if Ben was about to say something relevant, he shuts his mouth.

Ben smiles. “You were already in bed when we decided, and all of our other siblings were, uh, ‘catching up.’” Five wrinkles his nose at both Ben’s use of air quotes and the thought of what _exactly_ “catching up” entails for four of his six siblings. Ben makes a face, too, but continues. “Once everyone is awake today, we’ll set up a real schedule, and I’ll make sure you’re on it just like everyone else is.”

There is some reassurance in the words that Five doesn’t want to examine too closely. He tells himself often that it doesn’t matter that he’s younger than his siblings, that he sometimes feels excluded by the decade that separates their ages (except for Klaus. Klaus includes Five in everything, because Klaus thinks that Five is already capable of making better decisions than he is. Five agrees.). Just because he’s younger doesn’t mean he’s less important, or less than a part of the family. He’s not a _child,_ for God’s sake, he’s thirteen!

Ben’s still smiling. “You’ll be part of the team, Five, don’t worry. With Klaus and Diego making googly eyes at each other and Allison and Luther being in denial so bad, we’ll need all of the alert pairs of eyes we can get.”

Five smirks and feels better, and this is another thing he won’t acknowledge out loud or to himself, that his big brother can make him feel better with a few words, a smile, and a cup of coffee. That he feels better that he’s not alone, that his family is here and will help him protect their mother. That he’s glad that Klaus (his second favorite brother) and Diego (tied with Luther for third favorite) are back together, and that he can see the happiness already brightening Klaus’ eyes. That Ben knows how to make kick-ass French toast.

What he says instead is, “I’ll drink to that.”

He and Ben clink mugs.

* * *

**klaus**

If someone had told Klaus a week ago that he’d wake up to a nearly perfect life this morning, he’d have probably punched them in the face.

Klaus has some issues.

He would have been remiss, though, because he _did_ wake up to a nearly perfect life this morning. Sure, the Commission needs to be dealt with, he’s still a homeless recovering drug addict with a past that would turn most people’s hair white, and he’s probably going to have to raid Mom’s closet again because he wasn’t anticipating spending the night here last night, but all of that is _nothing._

It’s nothing because he woke up in _Diego’s bed_ this morning. He woke up to burnished bronze skin over hard muscle, a glinting nipple ring in the morning sunshine, and a strong arm wrapped around him to keep him close even in sleep. He got to watch his own pale hand rest on Diego’s tanned stomach, listen to Diego’s heartbeat, bask in Diego’s scent. He watched in fascination as Diego woke up, warm brown eyes sleepy and affectionate as Diego greeted the day and Klaus himself with a smile and a slow, gentle kiss.

It’s a little wild, how twenty-four hours can have him in such a different place than he was yesterday. Klaus is trying to come to grips with it in the shower (he doesn’t know what black magic good ol’ Reggie used to make sure they never ran out of hot water, especially since there are like twelve bathrooms and eight people here now, but the old bastard did at least one thing right) when there’s a rapping at the door.

“Klaus! I need you!”

Klaus sticks his head out of the shower, careful to make sure the shower curtain maintains his modesty, and blinks as Luther walks in without acknowledgement or permission for him. “Dear brother, may I ask what the fuck you’re doing?”

Luther has a towel slung around his waist, but his hair is dry. _Not from a shower, then. Interestinger and interestinger,_ Klaus thinks. 

“I have a rash I need you to look at.”

Klaus blinks, then glares. All of his brothers did this as they were growing up, assuming that he’d be able to tell them about some bump or bruise or hair on their dicks, just because he happened to like dicks as well as having his own. No mention of Diego being a little gay, too, _no,_ just Klaus.

(Of course, the only dick besides his own Diego ever seemed to want to touch was Klaus’, so he really can’t complain too much about that.)

“I don’t know,” Klaus says with ice in his voice they both know he doesn’t mean, “how it came to be that you people think that I’m some sort of dick expert, but I-”

Then Luther hits him with the sad puppy dog eyes and Klaus caves almost immediately. He knows that Luther and Allison argued last night, knows that the night ended with her shutting herself in her old room and Luther leaving until after Diego and Klaus went to bed. He knows that Luther, while maybe something really _is_ wrong with his dick, might just need a normal interaction with a sibling.

Fuck knows why he chose Klaus for that, but he’ll do what he can.

Klaus rolls his eyes to keep the show going, but waves his hand, too. “All right, drop the towel, you tower of a human being, you. Let’s see it.”

Luther doesn’t drop the towel dramatically as Klaus would have done, he just untucks it and opens it enough to show his long, lean thigh, his pale hip, and a reddened, bruised area right next to his dick. He keeps his junk cupped in his hand and covered by the towel, and Klaus is a little grateful, even though he wouldn’t have particularly cared either way, really.

He leans close, reaches up to adjust his purple, glittery shower cap, and examines his brother’s groin closely before standing back up straight.

“I don’t know what kind of kinky shit you got into last night, big brother o’ mine,” he says cheerfully, “but I believe what we’re looking at is good, old-fashioned rugburn.”

Luther’s face does something complicated at that and Klaus sympathizes. “How the hell would I have gotten _rugburn?_ Down… Y’know, down _there?”_ he says quietly, like he’s not the kind of guy who gets rugburn right next to his dick and asks his brother about it the next morning, like he has any right to have any shame at all.

“No idea!” Klaus chirps, inordinately happy about the circumstances he finds himself in. “Never had it happen to me.”

Luther blinks. “What the hell do I do about it?”

Klaus shrugs. “Mom’s probably got some antibacterial cream you can put on it. Ice if the muscle beneath is sore, pop a Tylenol or something. I believe in you.” Luther just stares at him and Klaus takes pity, reaching out to grip his brother’s bicep hard, bro-style. “Luther,” he says gently, trying to diagnose the unspoken problem that has nothing to do with Luther's injured groin, “it’s okay that you were upset last night. You’re a responsible guy, I know you are, so this really is just a sex-related injury. She’s not going to get mad.”

Luther flushes. “You don’t know, she might.”

“Then she doesn’t deserve you,” Klaus says fervently. He loves Allison, and he wants to spend hours gossiping with her, and he wants to steal almost every single thing she wears, but Luther has been here for Klaus for a long time. Even if they weren’t close, per se, and he knows that Diego won’t really like it, Luther has picked Klaus up when he was too high or coming down too hard to function. Luther has tracked Klaus down and dragged him out of dangerous situations. Luther was at Klaus’ bedside the one time he accidentally OD’d and ended up in the hospital (incidentally, that was when Klaus decided to go to rehab. Luther was there for that, too.). As excited as Klaus is to have a sister as girly as he is, he’s not going to let her make Luther feel like shit because she’s still hung up on whatever issues that made her run when they came of age.

“You’re a good guy,” Klaus continues. “You’d be great for her, and you’ve felt this way about her forever. If she doesn’t like it, or if she has a problem with you not being fucking _virginal_ when we all _saw_ the affair she had with that guy from those spy movies,” Luther’s face flushes harder and Klaus hurries to move on with his point, “then _she’s_ the one who needs to change, Luther, not you.”

Luther smiles, and it’s a little shaky, but it’s better than it was before. “Thanks, Klaus.”

Klaus beams. “No problem, o’ brothero uno.”

Luther chuckles and turns to go. “Hey,” he says, just turning to the side so Klaus sees his profile. “I’m happy for you and Diego, y’know.”

Klaus feels the prickling at the back of his eyes. “Thanks,” he murmurs, suddenly a little shy.

Luther smiles and walks out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him without another word.

A dark arm slides around Klaus’ waist when he pulls his head back into the shower. He leans back into Diego’s strong chest, letting the water run over him and warm his skin where it had cooled in the air outside of the shower.

“D’you think he knows I was here?” Diego murmurs, his other hand coming up to rest at Klaus’ hip.

Klaus shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. Why? Don’t want to be seen with me anymore?” It’s mostly a joke. Like, ninety-five percent a joke. Maybe five percent is a real, honest question. Maybe five percent of him really worries that Diego doesn’t really want this again, might think last night was a waste, maybe sees this as perverted and wrong in the morning sunlight.

Diego snorts, immediately dispelling any insecurity Klaus has about the permanence of his new reality. “No,” Diego says dismissively, “but no matter _where_ he has rugburn, that guy is always going to be a prude.” He turns so his plush lips are pressed to Klaus’ ear, his breath hot against him even in the humidity of the shower.

“He might make us stop.”

_“Di.”_

It’s quite a while before Klaus and Diego get to the breakfast table.

* * *

**ben**

Ben sips his coffee and watches his siblings stumble in one by one for breakfast.

Mom was first after Five, of course, and she cooed so much over his French toast that he’s sure he’s still blushing. It also makes him think that, especially now that Reginald is dead (and they should probably start the funeral thing, huh?) that they should come together and start doing nice stuff for Mom. God knows she deserves it after everything she’s been through. She fucking _saved_ them.

When it turned out that Reginald and Grace couldn’t conceive (and they were both very tight-lipped about who, exactly, was the problem there), Reginald adopted six children on a dreary first of October. They were all about ten (hard to know exact birthdays when you’re an orphan, kids), and every single one of them had burgeoning behavioral problems except for Luther. Ben still doesn’t get the logic behind all of that, but he guesses that toddlers and babies are messy, and Reginald did always abhor mess, so maybe that was it.

It was probably fate that Dad couldn’t have his own children because he turned out to be an absolute _shit_ father. He was a drill sergeant more than anything, really, and he ran them ragged. He never outright beat any of them, Grace wouldn’t have allowed it, but then again, he didn’t have to. He pitted them against one another, made them hit each other so he didn’t have to do it himself. 

Somehow, though, they made it through that. They still like each other on most days, love each other on all days. It’s nice, Ben thinks as he sips his coffee. They became a family without their father’s input.

Five and Mom ate and then left to shower and get dressed. Five has studying to finish and Mom has a blanket she’s knitting that she wants to pull down from her craft room to ask Klaus’ opinion on. Ben cleans up after them, waving Mom away, and waits for the rest of his family.

Luther looks like hell when he comes down, but he’s grateful for the coffee and the food. When Ben talks about keeping watch, Luther nods seriously and pulls a notebook from one of the shelves in the kitchen to start creating a rough schedule. Ben watches fondly, then suggests revisions and adjustments as needed (“Klaus and Diego are going to do their watches with each other, anyway, may as well schedule them one after the other.” “Put Five in the morning, he’ll be more alert than the rest of us.”). When shuffling and thumps start upstairs, signalling that their other siblings are starting to rise, Luther slips away with his coffee and an apologetic look. Ben lets him go. Everyone knows that the reunion with Allison went sour last night, and Ben doesn’t begrudge his brother fleeing before confronting her again.

It’s Vanya, though, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with a vague smile. Ben grins, because Vanya is already tiny, and she’s absolutely drowning in the t-shirt she borrowed from Luther to sleep in. It’s really cute, but he just pours her a cup of coffee and gets her a plate of food. Ben knows very well that Vanya isn’t verbal before caffeine, and compliments before she’s woken up are apt to send her running and hiding in her room.

Van’s complicated, but so are they all.

Once she’s a little more alert, Ben slides the lookout schedule across the table to her. As she’s looking over it, Diego and Klaus saunter into the kitchen.

Klaus is wearing those leather leggings that Ben always found ridiculous but Diego seems _very_ into. Ben wonders if they were still in Klaus’ closet, because he’s certain he hasn’t seen them in a long time. He’s leaning towards yes, because the turtleneck he’s wearing is almost certainly Diego’s, which means that Klaus definitely didn’t plan on staying last night. Klaus wouldn’t be caught dead in a turtleneck voluntarily.

Oh, but Klaus is _glowing._ His face is buried in the neck of Diego’s shirt and his green eyes are sparkling and flirting with Diego as the latter pulls a chair out for him. 

_Oh, wow._

Ben knows how conflicted Klaus has been about Diego. How hurt he was by Diego leaving, how proud he was of Diego for getting out, and how hard he fought to forgive Diego. Ben really thought their whole… “Thing” would be a lot more like Luther and Allison’s “thing.” It looks like they’ve reconciled completely, though, if the smug smile on Diego’s face (a contrast with the hesitant, gentle way he holds Klaus close) is anything to go by.

Something deep inside Ben heaves a sigh of relief now. Not everything is fixed, of course, and Ben really isn’t looking forward to the shitshow that will go down when Diego finds out that Klaus is homeless, but seeing Klaus look so loose and easily affectionate is kind of amazing. He pours his brothers two cups of coffee with a smile.

* * *

**diego**

Diego is on top of the goddamn world. Ben’s French toast is obscenely good, the coffee is perfect, and Klaus is tucked under his left arm, having a spirited conversation with Ben about some TV show that Diego doesn’t watch while Vanya watches on with a soft, silent smile.

_Damn._

Things are going to get ugly soon, he knows. None of them were particularly subtle about getting here yesterday, about gathering around their mother with a show of force. The Commission is coming, and soon.

It’s hard to worry too much about it now, though, because _Klaus is here._ And Klaus, the dumbass, forgave Diego, apparently a long time ago, for the worst thing he’s ever done. They reconnected last night, and Diego knows now _(always knew)_ that it was never going to work with anyone else. He’s always been hung up on Klaus.

Oh, it’s not perfect, no matter what Klaus was murmuring under his breath in the shower earlier. Klaus is an addict. Diego would have known even if Klaus hadn’t been heartbreakingly honest (and heartbreakingly blasé) about it last night. Diego himself is still a hothead with daddy issues who solves his problems with violence. It’s not going to be an easy road for the two of them.

 _No one else I wanna walk it with, though,_ he thinks, stubborn and loving all at the same time.

“You wanna stop eye-fucking Klaus and pay attention there, buddy?”

Vanya chuckles as Ben’s dry question drags Diego’s eyes away from Klaus, who’s smirking at him in a way that makes Diego want to drag him back upstairs, to their other brother. Ben is grinning, but it’s friendly instead of mocking, as is Vanya’s. Diego’s chest aches with gratitude. Ben and Vanya have unfailingly been mediators since they were all children, always the first to casually accept whatever curveball their siblings throw at them. 

(And, Diego knows, that they must have tried to take care of Klaus after Diego left. Ben and Klaus were closer than close then, closer than Diego and Klaus, certainly. Vanya, too, must have done her best, always loving their family fiercely and trying to keep them together any way she could. Diego knows that Klaus wasn’t okay, and that Ben and Van did their best to keep him afloat. It’s something Diego will never be able to repay them for.)

Still, Diego puts on a scowl that impresses exactly no one. “What?”

Ben rolls his eyes and puts a piece of paper on the table in front of Diego. “Patrol? Schedule? Opinions?”

Diego takes the schedule in hand and looks over it quickly. “Looks good to me.” He looks up and meets Ben’s eyes. “We got the firepower for this?”

Klaus snorts. “Please. The old bastard was paranoid when we _were_ here. Can you imagine how much worse it must have gotten after we left? This place is _brimming_ with guns.”

Ben nods. “Luther says the same thing. He’s going to be gathering some stuff so we can divvy it up.”

The mention of Luther has Diego’s lip automatically curling, but his heart’s not in it. Still, Klaus thumps him on the chest lightly.

“Be nice,” he scolds, “Luther had a rough night.”

It’s Diego’s turn to snort. “We all did.”

Klaus elbows him, hard enough to hurt a little. _“You_ certainly didn’t.”

Diego grins wolfishly. Ben gags a little, and Vanya rolls her eyes with a cute little wrinkle of her nose (and Jesus, Klaus must already be addling his mind, when does Diego ever think the word “cute?”).

“Well, with that,” she says as she stands, “I’m gonna go make sure Allison is awake, then go help Luther with the weapons.” It’s jarring to hear her say “weapons” in Luther’s old gym t-shirt, with her hair a mess and her cup of coffee almost as big as she is. 

Diego watches her go, the satisfaction of knowing that his whole family is safe in the house warming his belly. Life is good.

Y’know, sociopathic horde of goons waiting to strike as soon as they sense weakness notwithstanding.

* * *

**allison**

Allison doesn’t want to go downstairs to breakfast. She wants to see her family, of course, she’s missed them more than she’d realized, but…

_Luther._

She knows that she messed up. She shouldn’t have run so far so fast. She should have taken Luther with her (handsome, tall white boy like him? He would have done so _well)._ She shouldn’t have started this on-again-off-again thing with Patrick. She shouldn’t have panicked and picked that fight with Luther last night. She shouldn’t be hiding in her bedroom, fully dressed and fiddling with her phone as her stomach rumbles.

(It never crosses her mind to wish she wasn’t in love with her adopted brother.)

Patrik hasn’t texted her at all, which stings even after everything they’ve done to one another. As tumultuous as their relationship has always been, she really thought it was passion. They fought so hard and so often because they really cared.

Watching _Klaus and Diego,_ of all people, made her doubt herself, though. They fell back together so easily, with so little fuss. She would have thought it was because they didn’t care, but it’s quite obvious that there is something tremendous, something _profound_ between them.

It brought home a lot of shit for Allison.

So she’s not surprised that she hasn’t heard from Patrick. She knows now that whatever they may have had is over. She thinks that it’s probably because she’s been in love with Luther since they were teenagers.

Allison is very tired of revelations.

The knock at her door startles her out of her heavy thoughts. She blinks, then calls softly, “Come in.”

She’s surprised to see Vanya’s fluffy head poke out through the door. She’s squinting and her face is still a little puffy with sleep. She’s smiling, though, and it makes Allison’s heart lighter.

“Hey,” Vanya says, “if you don’t come downstairs soon, Klaus might drink all of the syrup with a straw, and you’ll be stuck with just whipped cream on your French toast.”

Allison wrinkles her nose. “That’s… Horrifying.” At Vanya’s solemn nod, she asks, “Was he always such a sugar fiend? I don’t remember it being quite this… Fierce.”

Vanya opens the door the rest of the way and leans against the doorframe. “Well, when he was fresh out of rehab, one of his counselors suggested using sugar as a substitute when he was having a craving. We had those cheap little suckers, the one they give away at the bank? We had them all over the place for a while. He’s chilled out a little, and he’s still off the hard stuff, but the sugar that man consumes is a little unreal.”

The thought of her brother in rehab, visiting counselors and battling drug addiction, makes Allison’s heart sink right back down into her shoes. She looks down at where her phone is clutched in her hands.

“I missed so much,” she whispers. “I could have… I maybe could have _helped,_ at least. Been here for it. I didn’t even know… I didn’t-”

“Allison.” Vanya’s voice is firm, firmer than it would have been when they were kids, anyway. 

“No one holds you going against you, you know. No one thinks you’re less for getting out. Hell, we _all_ got out. No one’s angry at you but you, Allie.”

Allison looks up at Vanya, sees the unbearable kindness in her sister’s eyes, and feels her own fill with tears. 

“Luther is.”

Vanya shrugs. “So you apologize to him. Or he apologizes to you. Whoever’s in the wrong, probably both of you, gives it up and say you’re sorry and you guys make up. Whatever else you guys end up being, you’re family, we all are. We’re stuck with each other,” she says with a smile.

Allison smiles back. “Stuck with each other, huh?”

“Yep. Just like you’re stuck with whipped cream now, because I’m almost a hundred percent sure that the syrup is gone.”

* * *

**vanya**

Vanya is listening to her mother hum softly, working on her embroidery and rocking in the big rocking chair Luther got her for her birthday last year, and watches.

It’s midday now, and she doesn’t know where the rest of the family is. Allison pulled Luther aside after breakfast, and she thinks they’re redistributing the guns throughout the house so they’re easily reached for when shit goes down. Klaus dragged Five off to a “boy’s day movie marathon,” whatever that means. Their youngest brother grumbled and put up a token protest, but ended up going along rather easily. Ben and Luther are God knows where, so here Vanya is, alone with Mom.

It was like this a lot when she was growing up. Vanya was a terrified, quiet wisp of a girl, and Mom’s presence was the only one she could tolerate for long periods of time without breaking down. She’s different now, stronger, but it’s still nice to just hang out with Mom.

The storm is coming. She can feel it, both in the way clouds darken the sky and thunder rumbles through the air, and in the way the hairs on the back of her neck stand up every time someone walks by the house and looks just a little _too_ closely at it. It’s in the way that, even humming, Mom’s voice is subdued and softer than normal. In the way that all of her siblings are somehow close enough to hear the low murmur of their own voices in the house, like they’re all circling Mom.

It’s in the way her hand tightens infinitesimally on the snub-nosed pistol she has in her lap every time she thinks her eyes meet someone’s out on the street.

 _It’s coming, but we’re ready for it,_ she thinks resolutely, and keeps watch.


	4. Chapter Four

**allison**

Allison is sitting on one of the armchairs in the living room thinking about (what else?) Luther. They’ve made up… Sort of. As much as she’s willing to make up with him before she goes home to Patrick, anyway. No matter how awful she and Patrick have been to one another before, she refuses to be even sort of unfaithful.

She did, however, hold Luther’s hand very tentatively under the dinner table, blushing madly the whole time. Luther’s bright, shy smile made it worth it, though, and Vanya ran interference with Klaus so he wouldn’t make a fuss. Allison is sure he noticed, but save for a salacious, ridiculous wink, he didn’t say anything.

Luther was a good sport about it, seemingly content to stay next to her. He understood her need to break it off with Patrick face-to-face before they do anything else. She wishes she didn’t have to ask him to be so understanding about so many things.

_ That kind of boyfriend you were so worked up about was really more of a fuck-buddy who sometimes brought take-out with him and looked good on my arm at premieres. But I got rid of him for you! Wanna come see my shallow, impersonal, pristinely decorated apartment and maybe stay there with me forever? _

Yeah, not so much.

She wishes she knew what comes next. As impersonal as her apartment is, it’s still  _ hers. _ Hers, and her whole life is hers, she has a  _ life _ in LA. She has friends, a career. She can’t just stay here, no matter how nice that sounds, and she can’t ask Luther to come with her, either.  _ His _ life is here, with their family and their father’s staggering business and their mother. She has no idea where to go now, what their future holds, and it’s driving her  _ crazy. _

So, sure, she’s preoccupied with that, but before she was famous (B-list, at least, getting to a lower A-list if she’s not already there), she was raised to be part of the mafia. She didn’t get the same kind of training her brothers did, but she was  _ definitely _ trained in how to spot danger. Keeping lookout was one of their first lessons.

It’s late, a little after two in the morning and she’s fiddling with the silencer on her pistol (a terrible, unsafe habit that she picked back up like she never stopped handling guns every day) when they make their move. Four people, probably men by the size of them, trying to stick to the shadows as they converge on the house. They’re doing a decent job, but Allison was already watching for them.

Her problems with Luther are pushed to the back of her mind. She hits the button for the silent internal alarm that will alert her family of danger, grabs her gun, and heads out of the room and down the stairs.

_ Action. _

* * *

**ben**

Ben isn’t sleeping when the light above his door starts flashing. He’s at least sort of reading, but he’s mostly lost in thoughts of family, estranged siblings, and of waking up late enough tomorrow that Mom makes breakfast instead of him.

Somehow, it’s not surprising that his mind goes blank when the alarm goes off. His body moves on autopilot, pulling the pistol from his nightstand and snagging the rifle from behind his bedroom door. He puts the pistol in the shoulder holster he never took off (he suspects that none of his siblings undressed tonight) (except Klaus), makes sure he has a round in the chamber for his rifle, grabs a fistful of zip ties and shoves them into his back pocket, and slinks out of his room and down the hall.

He only gets to the stairs before he sees someone. It takes an instant for him to know they’re not family, and the work of another instant to incapacitate the intruder. The guy (six-two, muscular, mid-thirties to early forties) goes down easy. Ben pulls a couple of ties from his back pocket and restrains the prone man, takes his gun, and sticks it into the other side of his shoulder holster. The goon has a knife in his boot that Ben also takes and tosses into his bedroom.

Reginald may have been a sadistic psycho who did his damnedest to raise child soldiers, tiny mafiosos in blazers and shiny shoes, but he certainly didn’t raise any  _ idiots. _

The sounds of scuffling draw Ben down to the stairs and to the first landing. He finds Luther there, taking down another dark figure with ease. He watches as Luther takes his own zip ties from his back pocket and ties the goon up.

Luther looks up and nods at Ben, then down the stairs and raises his eyebrows. Ben nods and follows Luther down on silent feet.

* * *

**diego**

_ What a horrible time to be turned on, _ Diego thinks without heat.

The thing is, he doesn’t actually feel too guilty about it. Sure, it’s not ideal, but it’s not like he could help it even if he wanted to. Which he does not.

Klaus is ridiculously pretty no matter what he’s doing, really. In violence, however, Klaus is ethereal, lovely, truly the faerie who took Diego’s heart so long ago.

Normally, Diego would take the lead as they go down the hall, dispatching an intruder they run into. When the alarms went off, though, Klaus’ eyes snapped open and with a whispered,  _ “Five,” _ he shot out of bed, grabbed one of the many knives hidden around Diego’s room (and someday Diego will top being surprised that Klaus knows all his secrets) and slipped out of the room like a shadow.

Helpless to do anything else, Diego is following Klaus down the hall. He understands the concern since Five is the youngest and is probably dead asleep right now, but the kid’s also kind of a homicidal nutbag. But he goes because family is family and he’d probably follow Klaus anywhere, regardless.

Honestly, Klaus should look ridiculous in his neon underwear, fluffy bedhead, and sparkly toenail polish. Instead, he looks deadly and unreal in the moonlight.

They get to Five’s bedroom door, which Klaus knocks on in some sort of pattern that Diego doesn’t recognize (someday, he will be back to recognizing all of Klaus’ patterns). The door opens to show Five, glaring at both of them under his own flop of messy hair. He has an actual set of pajamas on. Diego feels kind of sloppy in his holy sweats. Klaus is probably fine, Klaus has no shame.

Five rolls his eyes at the way Klaus is obviously looking him over for injuries. “I’m fine, idiot,” he snaps.

Diego’s hackles rise, but Klaus doesn’t acknowledge the insult when he responds. “Shut it. You have your gun?”

Five glares harder. “I’m not a  _ moron.” _

“I’m just  _ checking,” _ Klaus says easily, “you’re still my baby brother and-”

“I am not a  _ baby, _ and at least I have  _ pants on-” _

“You and your  _ pants, _ listen, you, I’ll-”

_ “Shut up!” _ Diego hisses, gently pushing Klaus into Five’s room. “Jesus, the two of you. Five, do you have pants for Kaus to borrow?”

“I’ll trade you for a knife,” Klaus promises seriously.

Five’s eyes narrow to slits. “A  _ big _ knife.”

Klaus gestures to himself. “Where, precisely, do you think I’m hiding a knife other than the one I have in my hand?”

Diego rolls his eyes and pulls one of the knives he got off of the guy Klaus (quite attractively) took down and flips it to hand it to Five hilt first.  _ “Pants,” _ he says with emphasis.

Five  _ hmphs, _ but takes the knife.

* * *

**five**

Five would rather die a slow and painful death than admit this, but his first emotion upon waking up to the sight of flashing lights was fear.

Mature though he is, the mansion has always seemed impenetrable, somehow  _ above _ the idea of infiltration. They had alarms and plans and weapons, of course, but it would never actually  _ happen. _

He would also rather die a slow and painful death than admit to the wave of relief and affection that almost bowled him over when Klaus knocked with that asinine secret code they use on movie nights. Klaus probably wouldn’t mock him for it, but Diego would never let it go.

Klaus looks ridiculous in a pair of leggings that are sort of loose and comfortable for Five when he works out, but are intensely tight and short on Klaus’ long legs. Diego’s certainly entranced, but Diego is biased as hell.

No matter how ridiculous he looks, though, Klaus’ eyes are serious when he looks at Five again. “You stay between Di and I,” he says, no-nonsense. “No running off on your own to prove that you can hamstring a man just as well as the rest of us, yeah?”

Five scowls, but nods reluctantly. He refuses to examine the comfort he feels when Klaus and Diego surround him on both sides, either. As they make their way down the hall, they see Ben and Luther, too, headed down to the first floor, presumably to stem the flow of the Commission.

He’d rather die  _ slowly _ and  _ painfully _ than admit that he feels even better with each sibling they find.

* * *

**luther**

It feels… Weird being back in front of his family, leading them through danger. When they were young, there were very few tasks Reginald trusted them to complete. Those few, though, were always led by Luther.

Since the others left, Luther was still leading, but it was always a team of his father’s men, members of their gang. People who resented him for his youth, for the quick rise to leadership he (dubiously) enjoyed, for his connection to Reginald. People he hardly trusted enough to turn his back to, even to lead.

So it’s strange, leading his family again. Nice in that he loves and trusts everyone currently at his back, terrible in that he never wants any of them to be in danger. The stakes are higher now, even in their childhood home.

Allison finds them in the front hall. Her eyes are a little wide, but she seems unharmed. Luther doesn’t  _ relax, _ per se, but it’s almost unbearably good to see her.

“I didn’t fall asleep,” she whispers, the words just barely loud enough to decipher. “I don't know how they got in already, but-”

Luther opens his mouth to comfort her, but to his great surprise, he’s cut off by  _ Five _ of all people.

“Even if their name is exceptionally stupid,” the kid says crisply, “they’re still very skilled. We’re lucky you were able to see any of them at all, much less hit the alarm.” His voice is quite matter-of-fact, and not particularly warm or comforting, but Allison’s shoulders loosen a little.

“Can we get a move on?” Diego hisses. “We gotta find Van and Mom.”

Allison indicates the hall she came from. “No one down there.”

Ben jerks a thumb toward the living room. “We looked in that wing, too. Nada.”

“Bedrooms are clear,” Diego says. “Just the kitchen and that side left.”

“All right, let’s go,” Luther says.

To his great surprise, Diego drops back to let Allison take the place of the second. When they were growing up, Diego would have died before giving up his place, but the way he positions around, in front of,  _ blocking _ Klaus says that Diego’s priorities have shifted.

The part of Luther that saw Klaus’ quiet devastation when Diego left, and the resulting emptiness in his green eyes, thinks  _ good _ in a fierce, vindictive way that he didn’t really expect of himself. He tucks it away to examine later. Now’s not the time.

He leads the way down the hall, listening sharply through the shuffling sounds of his family for any sound of danger. There’s nothing to tip him off, nothing that has him swinging around to point his gun at anything.

Until they get to the kitchen.

Grace, in her pretty robe with her hair pulled sloppily back, looks remarkably cool and collected. Remarkable considering the muscular arm wrapped around her throat, holding a knife just below her jaw.

Luther stiffens and he hears Allison’s sharp intake of breath behind him. Whoever this guy is, he’s good. His body language is relaxed but his gaze is sharp, observant. He watches them file in, assessing them each for a threat one-by-one.

He blinks when Five walks in, then nods warily. “Five.”

The only betrayal of emotion on Five’s face is his eyebrows going up in surprise. “Hazel, I thought you were out.”

Hazel shrugs. “One last hoorah, you know how it is.”

Five’s face darkens. “Stupid,” he spits. “You should have bailed when you had the chance, told Cha-Cha to get over herself and gotten out. I sure hope the Commission lets Agnes go after this.”

Hazel pales and his eyes narrow. “How do-”

“Because I’m smarter than you,” Five snarls.

Klaus’ sparkling laugh is too light, too bubbly for the atmosphere, but it somehow fits perfectly at the same time. All eyes are drawn to him, in too-tight leggings and no shirt, pale skin shamelessly on display.

There's insolence in his smirk that Luther definitely couldn’t pull off.

“You really  _ did _ fuck up, buddy,” he purrs. “Your bosses must not give a  _ fuck _ about you. Or they’re too stupid to live, too.” Klaus shrugs. “Either way, you’re fucked, handsome.”

Hazel’s arm flexes but clearly doesn’t tighten around Grace. Still, it’s enough to make the entire room thicken with tension.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls. “Look, this ain’t personal, but I gotta do this one last job. It ain’t personal, all right?”

Klaus snorts dismissively. “Five’s right, you’re an idiot. You don’t get out of this life, bubs, trust me. I don’t know who this Cha-Cha is, but she’s probably right.” There are shadows in his eyes that Luther hates but can’t argue with. “When you’re in, you’re in. I don’t know if they told you that this would be your last run, or if you’re hoping that nabbing someone as high up on our beloved mafia food chain as Grace Hargreeves will somehow count toward your retirement bonus, but you’re sadly mistaken either way.”

Before they were adults, when they were all still firmly under Reginald’s thumb, Luther would have cut Klaus off. Reginald always hated how much Klaus talked (maybe just hated  _ Klaus, _ come to think of it), and it was easier to just agree with Reginald than to argue.

Reginald is dead, though. Reginald is dead, and Luther was never  _ just _ their father’s man.

“See, if any of you had chosen to do some  _ real _ research into the Hargreeves family, you’d know that dear old Reggie, may he burn in hell forever, didn’t adopt us to create a  _ family. _ He wanted us to create an  _ army.” _

Now there’s a fierce, burning light in Klaus’ eyes. Everyone in the room is watching him and he knows it,  _ loves _ it.

_ “But,” _ Klaus says with a flourish, “I suppose the fact that the bastard wasn’t the cuddliest was common knowledge, so I am forced to conclude that you, specifically, are a complete and gibbering  _ moron.” _

Klaus lets the last word hang in the air until Hazel grits his teeth.

“Elaborate.”

Klaus smiles, and Luther marvels at how his little brother has so expertly created this moment.

“You  _ know _ that we’re all trained in weapons and combat, and you still choose to infiltrate. Instead of a show of force big enough to overwhelm us, which was the  _ obvious _ choice, you try to sneak in with a handful of amateurs. Instead of immediately subduing all of us, you just charge in and grab poor Mom in the kitchen.”

Klaus leans forward, manic and delighted and rather lovely, Luther thinks in a detached way.

“And your last mistake, but certainly not the least, is that you chose to listen to me blather on instead of  _ counting the people in the room.” _

Hazel’s eyes widen.

The pantry door behind him slides open silently.

Klaus’ voice is thick with satisfaction. “There are  _ seven _ Hargreeves children, you irredeemable fucknut.”

Before anyone can do anything else, there’s a heavy, wet  _ thunk, _ and Hazel drops, almost taking Grace with him. Just behind where he just stood is Vanya, tiny and furious and holding a cast-iron skillet.

* * *

**vanya**

The kitchen is silent for several beats. Vanya is grateful. She’s kind of  _ freaking the fuck out. _

It’s not because she probably just killed a man. She managed her first kill before ten, before Hargreeves (self-defense, and the sick fucker had it coming), so it’s not that. It’s not because it’s been so long, either, it’s not like she’s out of practice.  _ Clearly. _

It’s because she’s not worried about any of that. Hell, if anything, she felt a fierce sense of satisfaction when she felt the iron skillet cave in the assassin’s skull a little. She protected her mother, her family, and herself. All by being small, easily overlooked, hidden.

_ Dad always said it was my best feature, _ she thinks semi-hysterically.

As much as her violin lessons fulfill her, as much as she  _ adores _ teaching and playing, this is… Well, her anxiety is still silent. She’s only worried about how  _ not _ worried she is about this random bout of violence, which is actually kind of freeing.

_ Am I ever going to leave this behind? _

Klaus abruptly tosses his hands in the air, and the tension shatters around them. It’s suddenly much easier to pull oxygen into her lungs.

“Vanya!” Klaus cries cheerfully. “Coming out of the closet with a  _ bang!” _

Vanya rolls her eyes. “It was a pantry, not a closet.”

_ “Still.” _

Diego is rolling his eyes, too, but his face is all painful adoration as he wraps his arm around Klaus and tugs him closer. He murmurs something into Klaus’ ear, making him giggle, and they fall into hushed whispers and secret smiles.

Ben, now, is rolling his eyes, but he’s holstering his gun and checking on Mom, who insists that she’s fine but lets him usher her into a chair and start the kettle for tea. Allison and Luther leave to sweep the rest of the house, but the relaxed way her sister moves tells Vanya that she doesn’t think there’s anyone else in the house.

Vanya trusts Allison, which is interesting considering their history, but it’s pretty much the last thing on a long list of things that Vanya needs to think about.

Instead, she sits next to Five where he’s joined their mother. Mom is smiling and petting Five’s hair and he’s leaning into her side, letting her, which is a sign of how shaken up he was by the whole thing. Tomorrow he’ll insist it was for Mom instead of himself, and Vanya will let him have it.

Tonight, though, she leans into Five’s other side, accepts the cup of tea Ben offers her, and sits with her family. They watch the sunrise.

* * *

**klaus**

Klaus knows that it’s easy to dismiss him. He’s easily distracted, prone to bouts of fancy, is  _ not _ a hard worker, and has a wild temper that will flare up and peter out in a matter of minutes. He’s a bit of a whirlwind in flowy skirts or tight leather pants, and he knows he’s a lot. It’s easy to dismiss him.

It’s a mistake, but it’s an easy one to make.

Right now, his siblings are freaking out about the future. It seems like they’re peacefully bickering over breakfast, after having agreed to eat and then sleep away the day and let the alarm do its job. They had cleaners in to take the body out (get it, Van), scrub the floor, and get the bound goons back to wherever they crawled out from. It seems like Diego and Luther are arguing about what goes best smeared on toast (“Butter is a classic for a reason.” “You have no imagination, you philistine. It’s jam or nothing.”), Vanya is speaking quietly with mom about one of her students she’s having trouble with, and Ben is trying to drown himself in coffee while Allison looks on over all of them fondly. 

But they’re all  _ freaking the fuck out, _ which confuses Klaus, because isn’t it obvious what’s going to happen?

Ben is going to go back to his writing. He’ll hang out here more, maybe horn in on Black and White Movie Extravaganzas with Klaus and Five, but he doesn’t want to live this life. He likes his journalism and his cat and his apartment and his bi-weekly meetings with a therapist. Benny got out, and he’s still Klaus’ best friend, and that’s fine.

Five is going to go to college in a year or two and he’s going to wipe the floor with them. He’ll graduate at the top of his class, they’ll all be very proud and he’ll be very condescending about their pride. Five is going to go be a genius, or a billionaire, or he’ll save the world, or a little bit of all three. He’ll visit on holidays and he’ll Skype or Facetime, but Five’s out, too.

Allison is going back to Hollywood. The glamour has sunken too deep, it’s in her bones now, her blood. It will call to her in a few days and she’ll heed that call. She, too, will visit for holidays, but Allison is destined to be Allison the Movie Star, not Allison Hargreeves, mafia daughter.

Luther is going to be adrift, and it might take a while, but he’s going to follow Allison. Those two are almost as written for one another as Klaus and Diego are. Luther will follow her, and he’ll stay at home while she goes out to work, join her on the red carpet. Klaus is  _ terribly _ jealous.

Vanya, Diego, and Klaus himself are staying.

Vanya’s got darkness in her, and the violence from last night is going to call to that darkness if it isn’t already. She won’t play a huge role, but she’ll want in. She won’t move back to the Hargreeves mansion, but she’s going to stay close. She’ll continue playing in her orchestra and teaching her lessons, but she’ll be more in the business than out of it. 

(Klaus privately thinks that she and Helen will be wonderful together for a long time, but he’s never met Helen, so he doesn’t know for sure yet.)

And then there’s Diego.

Diego, who has been in stasis as surely as Klaus has. Diego, who came back to Klaus in a blaze of glory and filthy, hissed words in their childhood bedroom. Diego, who Klaus knows can’t  _ fix _ him, really, but who already has him steadier and clearer than he has been since their childhood.

Klaus and Diego will move back to the Hargreeves mansion permanently. They will fill the power vacuum left by Reginald’s death and Luther’s inevitable trip to California. They’ll get rid of the guns importing, ramp up the prostitution business (doing it right, taking care of their working people), and let the Hargreeves name do a gentle fade from power. It will end with them, here, taking care of their mother and loving one another fiercely.

Klaus settles back into Diego’s chest with a satisfied smile. He doesn’t know  _ what _ everyone is so worried about, really.

Everything is going to work out just fine.


	5. Chapter Five

**grace**

Grace Hargreeves did not kill her husband, but she’s glad he’s dead.

In the days before he fell ill, she’d been trying to come up with a way to help her beloved children. It had been so  _ obvious _ that they (with the exception of Ben and Five, her geniuses) were living unfulfilled, stifled lives, waiting for something to change without realizing it.

She was still puzzling it out when Reginald became sick.

She and her husband certainly didn’t love one another, but there was a mutual respect in their marriage until the very end. She cared for him as he died, knowing full well that he never would have done the same for her. She did it regardless.

So while she did not kill him, it’s possible that she is guilty of using his death to her advantage. 

Because the looks of apprehension and fear on Five and Luther’s faces when they told her about the Commission (of whom she was already aware) were endearing and sweet. They set off an idea in her head, one that she put into action without delay.

It worked better than she could have dreamed. The children gathered quickly, and the fault lines that had appeared when they became adults healed over for the most part (she will always have an extra soft spot for her boys, Diego and Klaus). Allison and Luther, too, seemed to be orbiting one another again. Her children were under her roof, united in the drive to protect her from the ugly things the Commission had undoubtedly planned for her.

Really, she had to protect the healing her family had already fought so hard for. It included maybe the tiniest, most insignificant white lie of omission, but she  _ had _ to. It was for her children, and Grace Hargreeves would do  _ anything _ for her children.

So when the silent alarm went off, Grace was already out of bed and locked in a physical altercation with Cha-Cha. The assassin was fast and skilled, but Grace has never been a slouch. She may have spent the last fifteen-ish years raising her children, but she spent the twenty-something years before that being a mafia princess.

One thing that she and Reginald had always agreed on was that Grace must remain physically capable. She was a mother, caretaker, and confidante, but she was also the last line of defense in their home for their children. She never stopped training in both armed and hand-to-hand combat, never stopped being ready to defend her family. She doesn’t know how her children missed it, but she’s grateful.

As much as Cha-Cha was a highly-trained assassin, she was also a threat to the happiness of Grace’s children. Really, she never stood a chance.

It was simple work to shove Cha-Cha’s lifeless body behind her headboard, wrap a long silk robe to cover the few droplets of blood on her pants, and go make herself vulnerable in the kitchen.

(She knew they wouldn’t kill her. Widows aren’t killed in this life, not outright, and not if they’re Grace Hargreeves. She would have prayed for death before they were done breaking her spirit.)

Now, she sits in her favorite armchair that Diego moved into the living room for her after he and Klaus moved back in. She’s knitting a blanket for Vanya, who’s perpetually cold in that big apartment of hers (although Grace suspects she won’t be living there alone much longer). Klaus is in the kitchen, humming loudly and making dinner. He got back from an NA meeting a few hours ago, spirits high and eyes sparkling.

Diego is at a meeting down at the docks, where Grace is confident he’ll come out on top. He’s taken to running the business like a duck to water, after all.

Five is in his room, studying unnecessarily for an entrance exam to a local university.

After dinner, Luther will make his weekly phone call to Grace from LA. He’ll tell her stories of all of the exciting things he and Allison are doing. Even better, she’ll hear the love and awe in his voice that has been so absent for so long.

Grace smiles down at her knitting. White lie or no, it was worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Here we are at the end! Hope y'all had as much fun as I did!


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